


and here you are living (despite it all)

by phanetixs



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: M/M, overwhelming amount of sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 18:36:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12415692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phanetixs/pseuds/phanetixs
Summary: “Commitment threading through each day as it passes, a fine line of silk that culminates in Dan’s smile, wide and crinkly. Whenever he looks at Phil.”Or, something about today.





	and here you are living (despite it all)

**Author's Note:**

> my teeny tiny contribution! hope you like it!

 

If last year was all glitz and glamour and sold-out arenas, this year is remarkably subdued; rainy mornings curled up in bed. A crowd of two, new flat, a whole new set of challenges. They’ve been put through the wringer and shoved out as new people; more relaxed and more in-tune with each other and their feelings.

Things feel so different now, but some things will always stay the same. Stagnant like Phil breathing in Dan’s scent in the morning, a bit handsy but only because he doesn’t have his glasses on, and is _just_ trying to get out of bed— wipe that smirk off your face, _Howell_. 

And Dan will say, lascivious about it, _well, little Dan here isn’t gonna sort himself out._ And some days (when he isn’t feeling particularly overwhelmed for coffee), Phil obliges, lured back onto their bed and Phil would feel the thrill of watching Dan’s reflection in their aesthetic moon mirror scrunch up in pleasure when Phil fucks into him, fast and hard. 

Other days, it doesn’t matter if it happens right then or much later. Maybe after Dan does his bit of yoga and moans about it for two hours after. Maybe after dinner, a moment to themselves before bed. 

It’s a quiet, mundane life they’ve become accustomed to. Mornings unoccupied, afternoons spent talking to their grandmothers, nights spent filming things that they love. Commitment threading through each day as it passes, a fine line of silk that culminates in Dan’s smile, wide and crinkly. Whenever he looks at Phil.

 

-

 

The _date_ doesn’t really spring out anything particularly poignant for them. Not really, not when there are a number of other days to be remarkably proud of: them moving to London, their first radio gig, Dan’s first trip to his therapist, the tour, their docos. 

So, the 19th isn’t particularly special except for the sentimentality attached to the day. The sappy tweets, the blurry Apple store selfies. A day out in town with his friend, at the time—despite the longing looks and too-long hugs.

They acknowledge it in a superficial sense, like hey, we met eight years ago, coolsies. Or a hey, we’re going to release this _super_ secret project today because we’ve been friends for _this_ long. 

And then, in real life; in boring, mundane domesticity; they celebrate it in the easiest way possible. Which is this: Phil hugging Dan a bit too long, secret smiles from across the couch as Dan’s plugging his phone in. Phil saying, _Happy Friend-iversary_ and Dan rolling his eyes, like _we’ve been together eight years, Phil. I think we’re waaaay past friends._

And Phil turning on the tv, Mario Kart Eight, reaching over to Dan from his place on the floor, lining up their pinkies. A smile, tongue poking out, and Mario’s punching his fist into the air behind them.

Phil hooking their pinkies together, a wistful look in his eyes as he watches Dan from below. Cereal stuck to his bottom lip, his hair sleep-mussed.

_Best friends forever, that’s the plan._

 

_-_

 

Dan still always gets a bit teary when he looks through the tag. He beckons Phil over to the couch, holds his hand as they look through submitted art, text posts, tweets. All the ones with the derpy old photos and photosets of them throughout the years.

“Jesus, we looked so young,” Dan never fails to say, clicking on an image and enlarging it. “Why was plaid a _thing_ back then? Like ugh, we were so dumb. Phil, Donatella would’ve been _so_ disappointed in us.”

Phil laughs, sips his Ribena. “She probably doesn’t care. _And_ I saw you cuddling with that shirt when we were packing up the old place, lest you forget.” He kisses Dan on the forehead when Dan cringes, because yeah, maybe they’re both sentimental as fuck when they want to be.

“ _Eight_ years, god,” Dan shakes his head. “Where did all the time go?”

“Honestly, I dunno. Hasn’t felt that long, has it?” Phil answers, sighs into Dan’s hair, carding a hand through the fluffy part of his curls.

 _“_ Between everything that has happened this past couple of years, the preceding five were _actually_ largely irrelevant, weren’t they?” Dan says with a laugh, looks at their ampersand, their recording plaque on the wall. 

“Irrelevant, maybe, but they were all necessary, I figure,” Phil tells him, breathing him in. He thinks about the beginning, the 2010s of the world. Maybe even the 2012s, now that it hurts a bit less to do so. 

“Like, if we weren’t so lovey at the beginning, or fought so much in the middle, then maybe—“ Phil stops. It’s just struck 5, they’re having Flipside over soon. Suddenly, it becomes increasingly more urgent for Phil to get his words right. 

“Maybe this wouldn’t have worked out the way that it did. We wouldn’t have come to London and found our home here. Or, we wouldn’t be as strong and reassured with our feelings now. Maybe we wouldn’t have met at all and that’s a bit weird to think about—“

Dan laughs, a bit disbelieving, like he always does when Phil’s being sweet on him. Like he can’t believe his luck and it makes Phil feel like the happiest guy in return. Because there’s something so special in being _wanted_ , even with your flaws and insecurities. Especially so many years on.

“I love you. So much.” Dan says as he shakes his head, presses a hand to Phil’s cheek and kisses him on the lips. 

It’s not anything new but it feels more magical, somehow. 

Their doorbell rings the haunted sound. “Ready?” Phil asks.

“With you? Always."

 

-

 

It’s a day that eventually passes, the 19th. Unintentional shows of affection, a project revealed, tucking themselves into bed after a job well done. 

It’s a day that’s maybe not as important to them now than it was in 2009, two boys meeting on the steps of Manchester’s Piccadilly. Not knowing what the future might hold for them. Worried, but a bit too smitten with each other to really care.

And then, in a large sense, it’s the day that birthed every other day. A catalyst. Like pushing over rock, watching as it tumbles down a hill, amassing bruises and awards and kisses and memories along the way. 

At the end, it’s _the_ day that sparked _eight_ years of celebration. And all of them spent wholly and amazingly, in the only way they know how: with each other. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on tumblr and twitter @phanetixs! 
> 
> do let me know what you think (also if you spot mistakes bc i wrote this hurriedly earlier today... could you tell...) because i've always been iffy on my writing style and how it reads :) have a great 19th folks!


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